For I Have Sinned
by Enochianess
Summary: "You must remember that there are many interpretations of the Lord's words and the guise you are taking of the Bible is very literal. Many believe that the Father cares little for men who lay with other men and that it is a small evil; after all, the Lord taught us love above all else."
1. Forgive me father

_"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."_

\- Jeremiah 29:11

_"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self discipline."_

\- Timothy 1:7

* * *

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Dean whispered, the sound harsh as it passes across his dry lips.

"The Lord be in your heart and upon your lips that you may truly and humbly confess your sins: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. _Amen_." A deep gravelly voice replied beside him from the other side of the grate.

"I… I've never done this before, so I haven't got a freaking clue about how I'm supposed to do this. But, Padre, I've got a problem." Dean mumbled.

"What is it you need to tell me son?"

"Well, uh… I've been dating this really hot chick Lisa and she's great and everything, but I just don't… I don't, I don't think I'm actually _capable _of loving her. I'm not sure she's really my type, if you know what I mean? And I know that's a sin. I know about the whole _'Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind' _and about it being an abomination and I know that my dad and my brother Sammy would be disgusted and kick my abominable ass to the curb if they ever knew. But, Padre, what am I supposed to do here?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse with the tears he refused to shed; Dean Winchester did not pity himself.

"Believe me, I've tried to stop all of _those_ feelings, but it never seems to do the trick. I bottle it all up and I tell everyone I'm okay, but I'm going freaking crazy. I'm white knuckling it everyday. And I dream and I can't control what goes on in my dreams and it makes me so God damn – sorry Padre – angry. I had this one dream the other day where I took a load of pills and drank myself to death and I woke up and I thought maybe that was the solution. But, that's a sin too isn't it? If I live I live in sin, but if I end that life of sin then I die in sin too? I'm struggling to see a good option." He murmured, desperation clawing up his throat.

"You are very hard on yourself. You must remember that there are many interpretations of the Lord's words and the guise you are taking of the Bible is very literal. Many believe that the Father cares little for men who lay with other men and that it is a small evil; after all, the Lord taught us love above all else. However, this second sin you speak of is almost uncontested. To take a life that has been gifted to you by God is a sin of the highest order. I entreat you to reconsider. You are young and the Lord has plans for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. You must remember that God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline. You can defeat this lesser evil, these urges and thoughts of yours, if you so wish. The greater evil you speak of though, that cannot be undone once committed." The priest explained, his voice a low and soothing hum in the cold and quiet chamber that gave Dean the heebs and full on jeebs.

"So I should just try harder?" Dean asked softly.

"You are strong and God has given you the power to defeat from within. Your inner demons are appointed with challenging you; they help you to grow." He replied.

"Thank you, Padre."

"The Lord has put away all your sins." The priest finished before it fell silent once more.

* * *

Dean closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the warm sunlight as he released a heavy, burdened breath. It felt good to have finally said the words aloud and it had taken a little of the weight from his shoulders, but he did not feel any relief. So maybe God wouldn't care if he started fucking dudes instead of chicks, but his dad certainly would. John Winchester was a macho ex-marine who drank copious amounts and got into bar fights. He was the type of man to encourage his sons to go out and have no-strings fun with the girls from the small towns they passed through, and he was the type of man to pointedly look away from any gay couples or individuals he noticed. Needless to say, he would be anything but accepting of Dean's preferences.

It had crossed his mind that Sammy might be different, more tolerant of what Dean considered to be a flaw in his character, a crack in his chassis. In fact, he was pretty sure that Sam would be fully on board with it, simply for the reason that his dad wouldn't be. Sam and their dad had always bumped heads and it was incredibly stressful for Dean to be constantly trying to hold their fragile family together, especially when trapped inside the impala for hours on end. He knew this piece of information about himself would be enough to shatter the peace entirely; it was a delicate balance and one he fought hard everyday to keep in tact. Therefore, as you would expect, he wasn't planning to drop any bombshells.

He'd fantasized often enough about living in an alternate universe where he would come out and his dad and his brother would pat him on the back or hug him and tell him it's okay, they'd known all along, it didn't change anything, they still loved him. But then the dam of illusion would break and he'd be forced back into reality, forced to look into the mirror and face himself. It was difficult to keep smiling whilst he felt so empty, a shell of a being, yet also so filled to the brink with rage and frustration. He sometimes wondered how his dad and Sam couldn't see the apocalyptic mayhem the was going on within him, the sound of the waves crashing harshly against his ribs, the storms thrashing in his veins, the energy burning and spitting furiously in every cell and every fiber. He did everything he could to take the edge off without them noticing. He drove just that little bit too fast, got into a few too many fights, drank enough for him to occasionally slip into a stupor, maybe fucked Lisa harder than he intended every now and again, took unnecessary risks on a hunt, looked for trouble where none was to be found. He was ridden with guilt and shame and self-loathing and his dad and Sam never even suspected something was wrong because it just came with the job, with the life.

* * *

That night Dean found himself sat on the porch steps of the old abandoned house they were squatting in on the outskirts of town, beer in hand and cooler at his feet. Sam was busy studying upstairs in one of the rooms, the light of the kerosene lamp casting a rectangular stretch of pale yellow on the overgrown, sad excuse for a lawn. His dad was God knows where; he tried his damn hardest not to worry that he hadn't heard from him in a few days, but the effort was futile. He stared up into the oblivion and void of the inky black sky, the stars surprisingly bright away from the lights of the town, and he thought about his uncharacteristic trip to the church that afternoon before picking Sammy up from school.

The concept of there being a God, some almighty, divine being somewhere up there, seemed utterly impossible if he was being honest. How could He exist and yet not lay a finger to stop all the crap and the evil that plagued the Earth. Why would a God, who was supposedly all loving, design him to be the way he is when it would cause him nothing but pain and suffering? It didn't add up. He doesn't even really know why he went to the church: a last desperate attempt to cling on to his sanity perhaps? Either way, it was less terrible than he'd been expecting. The priest he'd spoken to hadn't been a douchebag like he'd been anticipating and actually sounded sympathetic. He was pretty sure the correct path for the priest to take would have been to damn him to hell. Dean knew it was where he belonged anyway after all the things he'd done in his life.

"You're a fucker, you know that?" Dean murmured begrudgingly up to the sky as he opened another beer.


	2. Garments rolled in blood

_"Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil."_

\- Ephesians 6:11

_"For every battle of the warrior is with confused noise, and garments rolled in blood; but this shall be with burning and fuel of fire."_

\- Isaiah 9:5

* * *

Nothing soothed Dean's nerves more than a long stretch of asphalt and the gentle purr of his baby as he lovingly pushed her past 70mph. His dad had called a couple of days ago with a lead on a vamp not far from town, so Dean had obediently taken off. It was a run of the mill kind of case and two days later he'd nipped it in the bud. God damn son of a bitch had sank its filthy fangs in his shoulder, but a quick splash of the fifteen-dollar whiskey he'd left in the car and a makeshift bandage to patch it up had done the trick; it was nothing compared to what he'd dealt with before.

He was about an hour out of town when the fatigue began to hit. He hadn't slept since he'd left the abandoned house in the early hours of yesterday morning and now the adrenaline and high of the kill was beginning to wane. There was no way he was going to hold up at some dingy motel when he was this close; he needed to get back to Sammy, so he pulled in at the nearest Gas N' Sip and dragged himself tiredly into the store.

He grabbed the nearest candy bar from the shelf and stood impatiently behind a dark haired man just slightly shorter than himself. He needed coffee, like _yesterday_.

"That'll be ten dollars." Dean heard the sales woman say.

"Thanks." The guy in front of him replied, his deep voice a weirdly familiar timbre.

Dean stared blankly as the guy turned briefly around to look at him, a small smile pulling at his mouth and crinkles forming around his friendly blue eyes. Fuck they were blue. But that voice... he knew that voice from somewhere and he couldn't remember where the hell from. He'd certainly never seen the guy before; he would have remembered eyes like that.

"Uh, Sir?" The sales lady said, her high-pitched voice dragging him from his daze.

"Sorry. Just this and a coffee please. Black." He replied distractedly.

* * *

"How'd it go?" John asked as soon as he answered the phone. No hello; figures.

"Short and sweet. There was just the one bloodsucker and she didn't exactly make it difficult." Dean replied as he leant again the hood of the Impala and took a sip of his coffee.

"And you cleaned up the mess alright?" John drilled.

"Cut the son of a bitch up and burnt the pieces." He answered dutifully.

"You've checked up on Sammy?"

"Yeah, I called him as soon as I was done. He's been studying at the house all weekend and having zero fun." He informed him.

"Right, well it's probably going to be a little while yet before I get this one in the bag. It's something bigger than I'd expected, so you're going to have to get by alone for a while longer." John informed him.

"Do you want me to come out? I could help if you want; give you some backup." Dean quickly chimed in.

"No. Dean, I need you to watch out for your brother. I'll call you if anything else comes up."

"Yes Sir."

"Look after Sammy."

"Yes Sir."

John hung up.

Dean pocketed his cell phone and took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back and then proceeded to gulp his too hot coffee down so he could get back on the road. If he wasn't so accustomed to it, he might have felt a little hurt by the lack of concern his dad had shown him. Dean had always been the soldier, the instrument his dad used to protect Sammy and obey his every command. Dean didn't know any different and as far as he was concerned, protecting Sammy was his job. He'd always done it, ever since that night where the house had burst into flames with his mother inside it and his dad had told him to run. He didn't have anything outside of Sam; his whole existence had practically amounted to keeping him safe, caring for him, raising him whilst he dad went out for days at a time on hunts. Sam's life came first, that was always clear to him; his dad didn't even have to say it.

Dean really wished he could go out and help his dad though. They'd agreed to stay on in the same town so Sam could finish his senior year in one place, but Dean was climbing the walls. The vamp hunt had been a well-needed break but instead of scratching the itch he had made it ten times worse. He needed the fight, the kill, and the release. When he was out there killing things that went bump in the night he was distracted, focused on nothing but the hunt. Dean thought if he could just keep hunting day in day out that all the other shit would go away.

He thought a little bitterly of his brother. Sammy had always been his own person, didn't let their dad tell him what to do or what to think. But more than that, Sam was so much more than Dean would ever be. Dean was a killer. He was a cold and bloodthirsty killer. He liked the adrenaline, the simplicity and purity of it, the conviction that he was saving people, saving lives. He hated how much he enjoyed it and he was glad that Sammy had his eye on a different future, a better fate than what would undoubtedly be his own. Dean wanted him to stick around so they could be a family, but he knew it was selfish to drag Sam down to the pits of hell with him.

* * *

"Sam?" He called as he entered the house, his gun comforting in his hand, on guard as always.

"In here Dean! I ordered pizza!" Sammy called from the kitchen in the back.

Dean smiled as he walked in to see his brother's gargantuan frame folded behind the table, a massive slice of pizza in his hand and his mouth hanging open to catch the strings of melted cheese.

"How's the studying going?" Dean asked as he sat down opposite.

"Pretty well I think. I've been reading some really cool stuff about Native American art."

"Sounds fascinating." Dean drawled sarcastically, a wide smile spreading across his face as Sam punched him in the shoulder.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"How'd the hunt go?" Sam asked after a couple of minutes.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. The vamp chick was a disgrace to her own species to be honest, couldn't even cover her trail. I tracked her down, the freaking bitch ran at me and tried to take a chunk out of my shoulder, and then one clean swipe was all it took. It's a shame really because she was actually kind of hot." Dean said wistfully.

"Your shoulder okay though?" Sammy asked with a concerned frown.

"Yep, patched myself up nice and neat and then I was straight back on the road back to you and your sorry ass." Dean smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at him.

"Let me see. You might need stitches or something." Sam said, nodding at him to take off the layers.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket, flannel and t-shirt and peered down at the bandage that was now stained red with blood.

Sam shuffled himself closer to his brother and carefully began to unwrap the dressing, his hands gentle and his face contorted in concentration. "Yep, you need a couple of stitches. Wait here, it'll only take me a sec."

Dean was patient as his brother began to stitch him up with the floss, his face a stoic mask as the needle threaded in and out of the torn up flesh.

"You shouldn't have gone alone. I should have gone with you, stopped you from throwing yourself into the fire." Sam muttered with a shake of his head, handing the Jack to Dean once he'd sloshed some over the wound again.

"Nah, it was an easy case. You belonged here, studying up to be some big shot lawyer so you can break me out of jail the next time I wind up back there." Dean joked with a wink before taking a swig of the fiery liquid.

"Well dad shouldn't send you out alone. Whether you think so or not, you should have had backup." He replied.

"Dude, I'm 22. I can look after myself now."

"Would you let _me_ go on a case by myself?" Sam asked as he put on the fresh dressing.

"Of course not. Don't be stupid."

"But I'm supposed to let you?"

"I can handle myself Sammy. Dad told me to go and leave you at home, so that's what I did. I can't let anything happen to you on my watch." He explained seriously.

Sam nodded silently and stood up. "You should get some rest. You look like hell."

Sam went to bed not long after that leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. He hadn't thought twice when his dad told him to hunt alone, but now he thought about it, he got what Sam was saying. There was no way in hell he'd ever let his little brother go out against those evil sons of bitches without any backup. He knew he was different though. It didn't matter if something happened to him, not really. Dean wondered if that was what made him so good at the job. He was reckless and took the risks that needed to be taken to put some of the monsters down because he didn't really care whether he got through it alive or not. Except, of course, he knew he needed to be there to look after Sammy. He couldn't leave his little brother alone and unprotected. He couldn't fail his dad like that. He had a duty, a job. That was what kept him going everyday.


	3. Their torment ascendeth

_"And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever: and they have no rest day nor night"_

Revelation 14:11

_"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler._

_Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day"_

Psalms 91:5-6

* * *

A tortured scream tore from Dean's throat as the flames began to lap at his feet, a putrid smell of burning flesh invading his nose and filling his senses. He was trussed up, his hands bound in unforgiving shackles, his body exposed and slick with sweat, blood seeming to ooze from every pore as the layers of skin began to flay. He could see nothing but the fiery heat engulfing him and the dark nothingness beyond, a sound of evil and exhilarated laughter reverberating somewhere in the distance. There was absolutely nothing he could do but stare in horror as his limbs were consumed, desperately waiting for the moment where the pain would fade with his consciousness and it would all be over. He couldn't take anymore, yet he knew that in whatever reality this was, there was nothing he couldn't take. He knew with utter conviction that this was the kind of torture that would never end. He would take and take and take.

Suddenly there was a bright white light, pure and blinding in its intensity, and Dean squinted his eyes closed, as it seemed to descend from above. It was difficult to tell in this place. He wasn't even certain there was an above or below. There seemed to be nothing but fire and smoke and charred flesh. The air was filled with screams, enough to know that he wasn't alone in his pain.

"Dean," A low, stilling, almost extraterrestrial voice called out to him from the abyss.

He knew that voice. He reached out towards it with quiet, labored whimpers falling unknowingly from his lips, the flames leaping more in his struggle.

"I've got you." The voice whispered.

A dark figure leaned forward and wrapped him in a cool embrace, its strong and soft limbs soothing his seared flesh. Dean didn't understand what was happening. He needed so desperately to be saved from the inferno he was imprisoned in, but part of him couldn't accept that anyone would do that or fate would be so kind; he knew to the very core of his being he deserved to be punished. He knew this had to be some elaborate trick and there would somehow, God knows how, be worse to come. He knew it couldn't be over yet. Life didn't work that way for him. It cut and cut away at him and once he thought he'd reached his limit, life would cut that little bit deeper just to remind him how weak he was. No, Dean Winchester did not deserve to be saved.

"I've got you." The voice repeated.

It was closer this time. Dean could feel it echoing within him and all around him, enclosing him in its omnipotence. He gasped as he felt a cool touch to his shoulder, a strange icy sensation shooting through his veins and he felt himself knit back together again. He opened his eyes to meet two orbs of fiery, electric blue light shimmering back at him and then unexpectedly, everything faded back to black as he heard a earsplitting screeching and the shattering of the very air around him.

* * *

Dean woke with a start, a hoarse shout erupting from his throat and his hand clutching instinctively at his shoulder. He sat panting for a moment as the fragments of his dream began to peel away and he was able to focus back in on the present. There was a punishing and unrelenting pounding behind his eyes and he glared down at the empty bottle of Jack on the floor beside him. Fan-fucking-tastic. He needed to pull himself together, stop doing this. What would he do if something came at night for him or Sam? How would he ever be able to live with himself if something happened to Sammy and he couldn't protect him because he was completely shit-faced and had drunk himself under the table? He could just imagine his dad's face, the disappointment, betrayal and anger there. It would be just like Fitchburg, Wisconsin with the shtriga all over again. John never looked at him the same after that. Dean didn't blame him. He'd messed up, not been on his guard, forgotten his responsibilities, and been careless just because he'd been getting a little stir-crazy. He'd failed and nearly got Sam killed in the process. Sam was just a little kid; he should never have been left alone. It didn't matter that Dean was a kid too. Dean had never been a kid. He knew his place, knew what dad expected of him.

Dean groaned as he stood up and stretched, the joints popping and creaking with the movement. He always felt a little sore after a hunt, his body the worse for wear because he'd pushed his body too far and hadn't rested. It was a good ache though, one that reminded him he'd rid the world of one more evil son of a bitch. The wound from the vamp smarted a little, but when he looked down there was no blood on the dressing. He was actually impressed that he'd managed to shrug out of his clothes before he'd passed out; usually his boots wouldn't even make it off. He pulled his cell from the back pocket of his jeans and squinted at the beaming light as he turned the screen on. It was only nine o'clock and that meant he had a whole day to kill while Sam was at school. Dean sighed and headed into the bathroom, desperately hoping the water would work for once. Living in an abandoned house was not ideal and they really needed to find a motel; besides, it would only be so long before someone noticed that electricity and water was being used.

* * *

It had been a couple of hours of driving round the town when Dean realized he'd passed the same church five times. It was the church he'd gone to confession in and it seemed no coincidence that his subconscious kept leading him there after last night's dream. He couldn't get the nightmare out of his head, the realness and tangibility of it. He didn't think he'd ever forget the smell of his own raw flesh as it bubbled and blistered and flayed from his bones.

He felt nervous and a little uncomfortable walking into the quiet, cold stone church, his footsteps sounding too loud as they echoed in the still air. It was strange, he thought, that he'd feel so out of place when the job had taken him to at least a hundred different churches. This was different though. He wasn't there on a case, had no real reason to be there, except this unrelenting yearning for something he couldn't quite place. It made his skin itch; he just had this feeling nagging at him that refused to be shaken.

"Hey Padre." Dean said softly through the grate.

"You're here for confession?" The same deep, gravelly voice as last time asked.

Dean inhaled sharply as something clicked in his brain, recognition flooding through him. I've got you.

"Hello?" The voice said slowly, his tone unsure.

"My name's Dean." He blurted out stupidly, a fist coming down hard on his thigh immediately after.

"Hello Dean." The voice replied calmly.

"I was here the other day, although you probably don't remember because I'm sure you have loads of people blabbering and confessing everyday and they probably all sound the same and have much more exciting things to talk about than what I do. I don't know, maybe you get bored and don't even listen." He rambled.

"I listen Dean. And yes, I do remember you." He said, his voice slow as if he was picking his words very carefully. "How can I help you today?"

"I had a dream." Okay, and how pathetic does that sound? "It was weird, more of a nightmare really. But, it had some… religious overtones I guess? Maybe you could help me figure it out, decipher my subconscious for me or something."

"I can try." He encouraged, his voice completely devoid of condescension.

"In the dream, I… I think I was in hell. At least, it was exactly like I would expect the pit to be. I was tied up to something, I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, and there was fire everywhere and it was on me, it was burning me. There were these dreadful, unbearable screams coming from all over the place and the pain… it just kept going and going and going and I knew it was never going to stop, it would burn me down to ash and I still wouldn't stop burning." Dean paused, his eyes and fists squeezing shut as he fought back the trembling in his hands. "But then, out of nowhere, this thing appears, all majestic and powerful like, and it wraps itself around me in a way I don't really have the words to explain how, and it touches me and the pain goes. I didn't even see it properly, just these… these eyes staring at me out of the darkness like beacons." Goosebumps rose over his arms at the thought of his savior's steely affirming grip, its cool touch and pulsating raw power.

No sound came from the other side of the grate, no reply, no shuffle, nor even a breath.

"Padre? You still with me?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"I'm with you." The priest whispered.

"So, um… what do you think? Am I going crazy? Am I being paranoid and making a big deal out of nothing? Its just, I spoke to you the other day about… sin and where that'll lead me and now suddenly I dream of this? Did you have a chat with the big man upstairs to teach me a lesson and keep me in line?" Dean replied, a humorless chuckle tickling his lips as it passes into the silence of the confessionary booth. "Did you condemn me?"

"No Dean, I would never wish you harm or stress. Besides, it is not within my power to condemn you. It is up to God to judge our souls." He explained. "Perhaps you are punishing yourself? You certainly sounded very unforgiving when you spoke of your desires, of the things you want and dream about."

"Well Padre, according to your dad's book, they're not the kind of thoughts that get forgiving."

"Perhaps not. I'd like to think God is a more forgiving God than that, more loving. I don't see why he'd punish anyone for loving another. Although, I'm aware most of my brothers disagree. I've always been a little optimistic in my faith…" The priest trailed off. "Sorry, I got distracted."

"Don't worry about it." Dean replied.

"Are you coming to the service this Sunday?" The voice asked after a lull in the conversation.

"Um, I don't know. I've never really been to one before. My girlfriend keeps asking me to go with her though, so maybe I'll try it at some point." Dean says on an exasperated sigh.

"You should come. It might help you to find your faith, find some peace."

"Faith's not really my thing. As far as I'm concerned, I think God just likes to watch us crash and burn."

Dean listened to the steady breathing of the priest beside him, immediately surprised that he didn't receive a rebuke or some sort of lecture.

"The Lord be in your heart and upon your lips that you may truly and humbly confess your sins: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." He heard his gravelly voice whisper.

Dean stood up, understanding the polite dismissal. As he opened the door to leave he heard the priest whisper a quiet "I will pray for you Dean," that was silenced abruptly as the door closed behind him. Dean's stomach twisted uncomfortably and with an effort he pushed himself forward and back out the church. He had no idea what he was doing and he didn't like the uneasy feeling in his gut. Something was off and something told him it wasn't this place, but it was him. Something was wrong with him.


	4. Ground of the truth

"But if I tarry long, that thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house of God, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth."  
\- Timothy 3:15

* * *

"So, uh, I've been thinking…" Dean began unsteadily.  
It was Saturday morning and he was sat against the headboard watching Lisa get dressed for her yoga class. She had a good body and Dean was more than happy to sit and enjoy the view of her. He wasn't being creepy; he was just appreciating all the gifts God had given her, like her ass.  
"Always dangerous for you." She replied, her eyes flashing over to meet his in the mirror as she pulled her hair on top of her head to tie up.  
He would never admit it, not even to himself, but his stomach dropped with disappointment at the sight of her brown eyes. It's not that Dean thought there was anything wrong with brown eyes; he thought they were freaking beautiful, especially Lisa's. The problem was, he'd been expecting a pair of blue ones. And how in the hell did that make any sense?  
"Ha ha." Dean sneered childishly as if he hadn't been completely thrown a moment ago, but then suddenly he was serious again.  
"I was thinking that maybe I'll go to church with you tomorrow," He started, immediately holding a finger up when a smile broke out across her face and she moved towards the bed. "I'm not saying I'll ever be going again, but just this once."  
"You're serious? You're finally going to come with me?" Lisa asked as she perched on the end of the bed, her hand reaching out to cover one of Dean's.  
"Yeah." He replied quietly, nervously.  
"You'd do that for me?" She asked with awe and such happiness radiating from her that it hurt for Dean to even look at her.  
"Course I would." He said automatically, his smile frozen on his face as the guilt settled in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't doing this for Lisa at all. He was doing this for him and the weird, possibly subconscious, thing he seemed to have going on with the priest. The priest for God's sake Dean! He wanted to see the guy's face. Needed to really. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled on instinct at just the thought of it and it unnerved him because that meant trouble. He was a finely tuned hunter and killer and he seemed to almost sense danger when it was close enough. He was wired that way, had to be, because if not he'd be dead. It was imperative he was alert and always on his game, always ready to act and protect and defend. It was his job to watch everyone's backs; Sammy's, dad's, and obviously his own if he could. There was a reason why he drank himself to sleep most nights. There was a reason why there was a constant aching in his neck and shoulders. There was a reason for most of the pain in his life and anyone looking in from the sidelines would say there was one person responsible for it, but Dean hated himself for even thinking it. It had never been his dad's fault. Never. He had never asked for any of this. He'd been doing the best he could. Dean was just an ungrateful bastard, that's all it was. So what if he was fried all the time? John had been through enough without having to deal with an ungrateful, worthless, whiny brat for a son. Dean tried to be good, to look after Sammy, to follow dad's orders to make him proud and to make him happy, but he was never good enough. Never, never, never.

* * *

Dean was nervous and uncomfortable as he walked into the church with Lisa the following day and apparently he hadn't been covering it up as well as he'd hoped.

"Stop fidgeting." She sighed.

"It's this monkey suit." He huffed in reply, his finger running beneath the collar and tugging it away from his throat in irritation.

"Well you couldn't exactly come to church in your old t-shirt and torn-up jeans could you? There's a certain etiquette expected at services. It would be disrespectful to not wear a suit." She explained to him as they sat down in one of the wooden pews.

Dean shuffled a little to try and get comfortable and frowned when he realized he was going to be stuck sat on the unforgiving bench for the better part of an hour. He was beginning to regret his decision to come; it was making him feel antsy.

"Hey, you okay?" Lisa whispered as someone slid into the pew beside him, their leg pressing against his and, excuse me but personal space?

"Oh I'm just peachy." He replied with a wry smile.

Before Lisa got the chance to get another word in everyone in, the nave suddenly fell silent. Dean turned his head slowly and looked up towards the altar, his eyes travelling slowly up the long, black-robed body until he had nowhere else to look but to his face. He knew it was perfectly possible that it wouldn't be the same guy because churches had more than one priest for the services right? However, the moment his gaze fixed upon a familiar pair of wide electric blue eyes, he knew it was him. Weirdly enough, he also noted that he'd seen that face before, a week or so ago on his return from a hunt.

"O God who is greater than the most powerful forces in this world, enable us to be still and know that You are God. O Lord who answers out of the whirlwind of everyday life, breathe in us Your Holy Spirit to strengthen, comfort, and guide us in the midst of the storm. O still, small voice, speak to us this hour, that we might become makers of Your peace in our homes, in our communities, in our world. We pray all this in the name of the One who calmed the raging sea. Amen." He began as his opening prayer, his eyes tracing over every face in attendance, his eyes almost unbearably kind. His deep voice soothed Dean in a way he didn't know was possible and he found himself slowly falling into a trance like state. He didn't believe in any of the holy mumbo jumbo that was flying from his good-natured mouth, but the way the guy said it made Dean almost want to. The words comforted him as they fell from the priest's lips, wrapped him in a inexplicable warmth that told him he was safe here.

Dean listened attentively throughout the whole service, although he may have mimed during the hymns because nothing in the world could convince him to sing those dreary tunes. He didn't really understand the words or the prayers in the way he knew he was supposed to because to him it just screamed lore and a bucket ton of sugarcoating. O Lord who answers out of the whirlwind of everyday life. Seriously? Try telling him, dad and Sammy that. All the crap he's been through on a daily basis and he's meant to believe that God's helping out? Nope, God had either left the building or he just didn't give a damn. Maybe it was all some kind of joke to him, watching people squirm and destroy one another. Dean couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Castiel's great isn't he?" Lisa asked with a soft smile on her face once the service had ended, people flocking like sheep towards the altar.

"Ca- what?" Dean replied, his attention only now shifting back to the beautiful woman by his side.

"Castiel," She repeated with a nod of her head in the direction of the Christian herd. "He's new, but he's really good. Don't you think?"

"Castiel," Dean said slowly, testing the name out on his tongue and savoring how right it felt. "That's a bit of an odd name isn't it?"

"It's the name of an angel, so actually it's pretty fitting." She told him.

"Huh, guess he was born for this kind of job then." Dean murmured, his eyes flickering over the now dwindling group in the hopes of catching another glimpse.

"Come on, let's go say hello." Lisa said, tugging Dean from the pew before he even got the chance to protest.

"Good morning Lisa, it's good to see you." Castiel murmured softly with a small nod of acknowledgement in her direction.

"This is my boyfriend Dean." She said with a small press of her hand in between Dean's shoulder blades, encouraging him a bit like she might push a child to say hello to the other kid at the park.

Castiel's eyes turned immediately to meet Dean's and he felt his face flood with blood as recognition filled Castiel's gaze.

"It's good to meet you Dean." Castiel greeted politely, a small smile playing at his lips.

Dean couldn't stop staring or being awkward and it was stiff when he held out a hand in front of him for Castiel to shake. The moment their flesh touched, the moment their hands clasped on to one another, he relaxed. He couldn't explain it. There was just this inexplicable rightness. Comfort. Safety. Ease. But damn it Dean, it was just a handshake. So what if his hand held on just that little bit too long? So what if his hand was still warm and tingling as they said goodbye and made their way out the church. So what if that one measly moment of contact with another human being had been the most peaceful he'd felt in years.

* * *

That night Dean went back to the abandoned house and made pasta for Sam. He fought back a wide smile of satisfaction when his brother groaned his approval, embarrassingly happy that his cooking was appreciated. They sat and played cards at the table until Sam's eyes were drooping and he dragged himself up the crumbling stairs to find somewhere to crash. And for the first time in a long time, Dean didn't have a drink. He stood in the doorway and looked out at the stars and when he went back inside and lay down he fell asleep with images of blue eyes and breath-taking black feathered wings flickering behind his eyelids.


	5. Neither can the floods drown it

**Warning: some homophobic language and references to abuse**

* * *

_"Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it"_

\- Song of Solomon 8:7

* * *

_Dean lay panting on his back, black spots filling his vision and blood sitting uncomfortably in his throat._

_"Get up boy!" A familiar bellowing voice shouted as a foot collided sharply with his side._

_Dean winced and bucked sideways with the movement, but he wouldn't give his attacker the satisfaction of a sound. He rolled stiffly on to his stomach and began to crawl across the shattered glass on the floor. The palms of his hands were deeply embedded with the sparkling shards and he left trails of blood on the old wood as he dragged his wearied muscles away from the danger at his tail._

_"Are you really going to make me kill you when you're down on the floor like that? I thought I raised you better than that Dean. What would your mother say if she saw you now?" The voice, now painfully recognizable, shouted at him._

_Dean rolled over on to his back in bewilderment to be met with his father's terrifying glare, a knife held threateningly in his hand. What the hell was going on? His dad got pissed sometimes sure, but he'd never actually tried to kill Dean._

_"Dad?" Dean choked out, turning his head to the side to spit some of the coppery blood from his mouth. "What's going on?"_

_"I have a faggot for a son, that's what's going on." He barked back._

_Dean visibly recoiled at the hatred he heard in his dad's words. It pierced at him in a way that made his breath come fast and sharp and his stomach twist unpleasantly._

_"I'm not dad. I swear. I'm with Lisa, remember?" Dean said desperately, the plea clear in his voice._

_"I know when you're lying to me boy." John spat back. "You're going to rot in hell for this. You deserve to burn."_

_Suddenly the world seemed to tilt on its axis and a shadow appeared behind his father. Dean watched as it lashed out with its bare hands and stared bewilderedly as John fell immediately to the ground. Dean looked up and shivered at the pair of blue orbs fixed coolly down on him._

_"Dean," The deep voice reverberated._ Castiel's_ voice._

_"I don't understand." Dean murmured in confusion. "Why are you here? What's going on?"_

_"You were in danger. I'm here to save you." Castiel replied with a frown, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world._

_Dean swallowed thickly as Castiel crouched down in front of him, his hands reaching up to frame his face, his fingertips brushing along the lines of his jaw._

_"What are you doing?" Dean whispered, his eyes fluttering closed from the unfamiliar tenderness of Castiel's touch._

_The hairs on the back of his neck stood up with anticipation as he felt Castiel lean closer, but he didn't get his usual instinct of fight or flight. He felt_ right._ A whimper made its way up his throat at the first brush of the priest's lips against his, his body sinking back into the floor as Castiel moved over him, and the sound was swallowed up between them. Except, in this place, Castiel wasn't a priest at all. He was something else entirely. Dean had no idea what he was, and that should have scared the crap out of him but it didn't. Castiel was powerful, indestructible, and immoveable. He was more than human. Dean clutched at him frantically, trying to express a desperation for something he didn't even understand._

* * *

"Whoa! Dean, calm down. It's just me."

Dean's eyes focused slowly in on Sam's face in front of him, quickly releasing the handfuls of his shirt he'd grabbed hold of.

"Hey, sorry." Dean said as he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes.

"Bad dream?" Sam asked him sympathetically.

"Uh, something like that." Dean replied.

"So, um, it's raining. I was kind of hoping you'd give me a ride to school or let me take the Impala?"

"Sure, just give me a sec to throw some clothes on and splash some cold water on my face."

The moment Sam left him alone in the room Dean rummaged around for his cell and dialed his dad's number. He sat with nerves churning in his gut, his teeth digging sharply into the pad of his thumb as he listened to the incessant beep-beep-beeping.

"This is John Winchester. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you." His dad's strong voice replayed back to him.

Dean flipped his phone closed and dropped his head into his hands. _It was just a dream Dean. It was just a dream. Come on don't fall apart now. It was just a dream._

* * *

"Castiel? That you in there?" Dean murmured sheepishly.

He hadn't been able to resist the pull of the church and the man who would be waiting inside it on his way back home. Besides, the rain was really picking up and was hammering down on the windscreen. He was just being sensible. It was dangerous to drive in weather like that.

"It's me." Castiel replied softly.

Dean released a lungful of air he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Hi."

"Hello Dean."

"How- how did you know it was me?" Dean stammered embarrassingly.

"I spend a lot of time listening. I've got pretty good at recognizing voices." He explained.

"Huh," Dean sighed.

"So what have you come to speak to me about today?" Castiel steered the conversation. "What is the nature of your sins?"

"Straight to business then." Dean mumbled.

"Well, you are here to confess aren't you?" Castiel asked simply.

"To be honest man, I don't have a freaking clue what I'm doing here." Dean admitted. "I don't know why I keep coming back."

"Perhaps it brings you comfort to speak to someone when you don't have the pressure of it being held against you. Here, you can speak openly and know that it will never leave this booth. You have freedom in a way I am guessing you're not really accustomed to. Here there are no consequences to your words. Here you can speak the truth of your mind."

"Do you always talk like that?" Dean asked.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, like a damn shrink or something. You sound so formal and wise and stuff."

A small chuckle passed unexpectedly through the grate, the sound warming Dean's chest.

"It's my job Dean. I am here to listen, and to forgive, and to advise."

"You're a fucking saint, you know that?" Dean muttered, biting down hard on his lip the moment he realized he'd cursed in church, again.

"No Dean. I am much further away from that than you can imagine." Castiel whispered sadly.

It was silent for a moment, not uncomfortably, just somberly. Dean didn't know what to say. For once, he was a little lost for words. The hint of self-loathing didn't sound right coming from the priest's mouth.

"Hey, um… do you want to get a drink or something? Maybe a coffee? I don't know what priests drink or whether they're allowed to go out and do normal stuff… I just, never mind." Dean rambled. What the fuck are you doing Dean?

"I can drink." Castiel sighed almost exasperatedly. "But, maybe it would be best to go a little out of town? I don't think I'd be comfortable drinking amongst locals. Lots of people in town would frown upon me drinking. This isn't exactly professional of me."

"Look it was just an idea. We don't have to if it'd make you feel uncomfortable."

"No Dean, I… I would like to have a drink with you." Castiel's low gravelly tone sounded nervous and Dean squirmed happily in his seat.

"Okay great. How about Joe's out on the inter-state? It's about an hour out." Dean suggested.

"Alright. I'll meet you there."

"Eight late enough for you?"

"Eight would be sufficient."

Dean laughed and shook his head. "Man, the way you speak is so weird."

"Am I supposed to be offended by that statement?" Castiel asked warily after a pause.

"Nah, its… a compliment, I guess."

"Right." Dean could almost hear Castiel's nod.

* * *

"Padre, over here!" Dean waved as he noticed Castiel standing in the entrance of the bar, his hair dripping-wet and t-shirt covered in dark blotches.

"Nice weather isn't it?" Dean said with a smirk as Castiel sat heavily on the stool beside him.

"I don't particularly enjoy the rain." He replied.

"How come you're not all robed up?" Dean asked as he signaled the bartender down for another drink.

"Believe it or not Dean, I am a normal person. The church is my day job." Castiel told him.

"Huh, don't know why but I thought you guys always dressed like that."

"Thankfully not." Castiel, damn it, Cas replied with a smile.

"Tough day at the office?"

"Well, some guy came in to confession and didn't actually confess anything." He said, his face twitching as he tried to remain serious. Well look at that, the guy had made a joke.

"I think you can only confess that you like dudes so many times before it becomes kind of futile. What's the use of me confessing something that's never going to change? I can't be forgiven for something I've done wrong if I'm probably just going to do it again. I can't stop myself thinking about things that way, no matter how hard I try. And believe me, I've tried. I've tried until I was blue in the face." Dean said before knocking back two fingers of whiskey.

"Maybe you don't need to change that part of yourself. What if that's exactly how God intended you to be?" Cas asked, wondering almost to himself.

"Cas, why are you so cool with all this stuff? Why aren't you jumping down my throat about how wrong this is and how I'm a filthy abomination?" Dean questioned, watching as Cas' eyes widened a fraction at the nickname.

"Self preservation I guess."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked in confusion, a deep frown forming between his brows.

"I'm not like you Dean. I can't keep fighting myself all the time. I have to forgive and forget."

"I don't understand." Dean murmured.

"I think you do Dean." Cas whispered, his face turning towards Dean and his gaze piercing into what felt like the depths of his soul. And, oh.

"How?" Dean asked dumbly.

Cas laughed, a loud full belly laugh that made his head fall back.

"Dean, I'm pretty sure I don't have to tell you that I had absolutely no say in it."

"Does anyone know?" Dean said softly, his arm sliding slightly to the left to brush against Cas'. The touch felt good, reassuring, and necessary in the midst of their chick-flick heart-to-heart.

"My family does, but they made it clear pretty quickly that it wasn't acceptable and I either buried it all or disappeared. My older sister, Anna, she was a little different. She was sympathetic but she didn't want to lose me, so she said I should do as I was told. We grew up in a very religious family and I'd always known I was expected to go into the church. I don't know why I even contemplated the idea of telling them who I was. It was never going to be okay, not with the archaic beliefs of my family. I swore I'd never lie to myself about it or be ashamed, but I also swore I'd never act on my feelings. I had to respect my parents' wishes."

"I think if I told my dad he'd probably kill me." Dean whispered, flinching almost imperceptibly at the unwanted flashback of last night's dream.

"I'm sure that's not true Dean." Cas comforted.

"I had a dream last night, real vivid, and my dad was beating on me something awful. He had a knife in his hand and he was calling me a faggot and telling me I deserved a trip downstairs. He meant it too; I could see it in his eyes. I'm not sure I've ever seen him so angry, and trust me, I've seen him angry plenty of times."

"It was just a dream though. It wasn't real Dean." Cas said softly, his fingertips brushing lightly across the back of Dean's wrist.

"It could happen though Cas." Dean whispered as he turned to look fixatedly at Cas, his breathing quickening at the unexpected close proximity. "I'd do anything for him. I have done anything. I've given him everything I've ever had. But when he looks at me, it's like he knows there is something wrong with me. One day he'll decide I'm not good enough and he'll leave and I'll be all alone. Sammy will be at college and he'll move on, realize he's too good to hang around with a grunt like me. Then what am I supposed to do? I don't have anything else."

"It won't happen." Cas told him carefully.

Dean took a deep breath and shook his head with a humorless chuckle. "Man I'm sorry. You don't need to listen to all this."

"Perhaps not, but I think you needed to say it."

"You know, you were in the dream last night too." Dean began slowly, unsure where he was going with this.

"I was?" Cas asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Yeah. You saved me." Dean said, his gaze falling to stare at Cas' plump lips. He could almost remember just how good it had felt to have them pressed against his own.

"Maybe my prayers worked after all then." He replied.

"You really prayed for me?" Dean asked and forced himself to meet Cas' eyes again.

"I prayed for you to be saved." Cas told him, putting it in such simple terms that Dean didn't know how to respond, how to deflect.

"We should probably go." Dean murmured. "It's getting late." It really wasn't.

"Okay." Cas replied, getting up and following Dean out the bar into the cold, but thankfully now dry, night.

They walked side by side across the parking lot until they reached the Impala. Cas' car was parked a couple of spaces down.

"Well, this has been-" Dean started before suddenly Cas pushed him against the side of the car, his lips pressing harshly to Dean's and their torsos colliding.

Dean faltered for a moment in surprise, but within a matter of seconds he was grabbing fistfuls of Cas' shirt and biting down on his bottom lip. Their hot breaths mingled as they took in a gulp of air before diving in for more, tongues twisting and caressing, hands searching and tugging frantically. It had been a long time since Dean had touched another man like this, but he knew without a doubt that this was infinitely better than all the other times put together.

"Cas," Dean gasped, his head falling back on the roof of the Impala as Cas' lips trailed down his neck, biting and sucking and most definitely marking. Seriously, how was this guy a priest?

"Dean," Cas panted, his head coming back up and his mouth reclaiming Dean's. "Can," He began, his lips no longer kissing but just touching. "Can we go somewhere? Please?"

A shudder ran down Dean's spine and he nodded without so much as a thought. "Yes. Yes. We can- we should do that right now. We can't stay here."

"We could find a motel?" Cas asked as he stepped back, his dark, slightly unfocused eyes fixed hungrily on Dean.

"Get in your car and follow me. I know one a couple of minutes from here." Dean told him with shaking hands.

"Okay." Cas replied, leaning in to press another quick kiss to Dean's mouth before he practically ran to get in his own car.

Dean slid in the Impala and started the engine up with adrenaline racking through his body, an excitement he hadn't felt in what seemed like years. He pulled out of the lot and all he could think of was _Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas_.


	6. Coals of fire

_"Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame."_

\- Song of Solomon 8:6

* * *

There was no awkwardness or hesitation as Dean put the key in the motel-room door and stepped inside with Cas a solid line against his back. It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he slammed the man roughly against the now closed wooden door, their wide eyes meeting for a brief but intense moment before their lips crashed together hungrily. It was a relief for Dean that he didn't need to hold himself back; with Lisa he always felt the need to be gentle, as if she would break, but he knew Cas would be able to take whatever Dean gave. He felt the sharp inhalation of Cas' gasp as Dean's hands found their way underneath his shirt, his thumbs rubbing slow but firm circles at the slight dip of his waist. Dean sighed happily at the feel of Cas' hot, feverish skin and smooth, muscled abdomen. He'd missed this more than he'd realized.

"Shhh," Dean hushed him, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you." _I've got you._

Cas melted against the door, his hands reaching up to grab at Dean's shoulders to pull him completely flush against him. Dean moaned at the feeling of their hips aligning and Cas took the opportunity to lick inside his mouth, the heat and taste of Dean overwhelming. Dean needed the friction of skin against skin and began frantically tugging at the hem of Cas' shirt until he let him step back to remove the offensive garment.

"You too," Cas breathed harshly as he pushed the flannel from Dean's shoulders and pulled off the Led Zeppelin shirt he had on underneath.

A callused hand pressed against Dean's chest, pushing him further into the dingy room until his back collided with an unforgiving surface, their positions now reversed. Their lips met in a feverish kiss, their tongues tangling as they both fought for dominance. Dean's hands wondered upwards, his nails scratching lightly at the base of Cas' skull before tugging sharply on the short dark curls at the nape of his neck. Dean couldn't help but whimper when Cas' lips detached from his, but he was soon placated by the feel of Cas' teeth dragging against the line of his jaw.

"I should warn you Dean. I have never indulged in my desires for a man before. I don't really know what I'm doing here." Castiel murmured against Dean's cheek, his hips pinning the slightly taller man against the cheap motel wallpaper with what felt like anything but a lack of experience.

"But, ah- you've had sex before right?" Dean replied, his eyes squeezing shut as Cas slotted a thigh between his legs and simultaneously bit down on his earlobe.

"Of course I have. I may spend my days serving the Lord, but do not think that makes me immune to the desires of man."

In any other circumstance, Dean might have been a little appalled over the fact Cas' holy talk was turning him on. As it was though, the rush of blood heading in a southerly direction was making it difficult to think of anything much at all. And if the hard line against Dean's hip was anything to go by, Cas wasn't faring much better. Dean bucked his hips up and smirked at the sound of Cas' breath being punched out of him.

"Dean," He murmured, his eyes hazy as they met the other man's.

Dean could sense the desperation in Cas' eyes, the plea in his voice, the need he didn't know how to vocalize for something more. Dean took mercy on him and walked him backwards until the mattress cut into the backs of Cas' knees and Dean lowered them both down onto it. Cas stared openly at him as he let his legs fall open in an unspoken invitation for Dean to crawl in between. It was too much. It was all too much for him to handle.

Dean buried his face in Cas' neck as he felt Cas' deft fingers undoing his belt buckle, a hand immediately reaching inside his pants to tug at him.

"Oh God, oh God, I'm definitely going to hell now." Dean whined before mouthing at Cas' collarbone as he thrust up into the firm grip.

"Is this okay?" Cas asked breathlessly, a keen escaping him when Dean bit down on a nipple.

"Fuck Cas- _yes… yes_. It's- it's more than okay." Dean panted against his chest.

"I, " Cas started, his voice breaking off the moment Dean palmed him through his jeans.

"Too many clothes Cas. You've got too many clothes on." Dean murmured as he began tugging at the fabric.

The loss of Cas' hand on him was a physical ache and Dean almost fell off the bed in his haste to divest their remaining articles of clothing. Cas yanked him back down the moment they were both free; the feel of naked flesh on naked flesh was exhilarating. Dean reveled in the fact there was nothing separating them anymore and chuckled as Cas turned his face into the pillow to silence his whine when Dean took them both in his hand.

"Good isn't it?" Dean asked before pressing their mouths together, teeth tugging on Cas' bottom lip as the familiar heat began to build in his stomach.

"_Shut up_," Cas gasped. "Just- Just-" He tried, his eyes fluttering shut as Dean squeezed gently and picked up the pace.

Dean shifted slightly, the arm holding him up shaking, as their movements became more and more erratic, the built up rhythm beginning to falter.

"I don't think-" Cas panted, his voice breaking off into a low moan when Dean pressed his hips down.

"Me neither." Dean huffed.

Cas' fingers slipped from where they were digging into the back of Dean's neck to his shoulders, his back arching and his mouth falling open on a gasp as his orgasm tore through him. Dean thrust once, twice, three times before he felt himself fall over the precipice too, his hips stilling before he collapsed on top of Cas.

* * *

They lay together silently as their sweat began to cool, the warm sticky substance on their stomachs drying uncomfortably, but both too tired and limbs too heavy to move. Cas nuzzled his head into Dean's shoulder as Dean began to nibble on the sensitive skin of Cas' neck, tongue swiping over the salty flesh.

"We should clean up." Cas said sleepily, his hands running up and down Dean's spine.

Dean _mm_'ed in reply, the sound vibrating against Cas' throat making him shiver. "Don't wanna move. You're comfy."

The room was silent except for the gentle thrum of the AC and the sound of their soft breaths, their chests rising and falling together as one. Dean could feel himself slowly losing consciousness and he sighed as, with regret, he pushed himself up and rolled over on to his back. He threaded his fingers in Cas' unkempt hair and stroked his temple gently with his thumb, watching quietly as Cas stared up at the ceiling.

"You okay there, buddy?" Dean whispered.

"I apologize for my behavior in the parking lot." Cas replied in his familiar formal tone. "I hadn't… I hadn't been expecting that. I was caught off guard."

"You don't need to apologize Cas. Seems a bit irrelevant now don't you think?" He said with a chuckle.

Dean watched as Cas' lips quirked up into a small smile before responding with a nod.

"You sure you're okay though?" He asked with concern. "You're not going to start having some sort of existential breakdown?"

"No Dean, I don't think so." Cas replied quietly.

"Well, that's good I guess." Dean murmured a little awkwardly. "Look, I hate to do this man, but I really ought to get home. Sammy will worry if I'm not there in the morning."

Cas rolled over to face him and shifted forwards until he could press their lips together tenderly. Dean melted into the embrace, his hands reaching up to cup Cas' face.

"Thank you Dean." Cas whispered before he pulled back and slid out of bed, quickly pulling his clothes on without bothering to clean himself up.

"You know, when I asked you out for a drink this was definitely not what I was expecting." Dean said conversationally as he followed Cas' lead.

"That makes two of us." Cas replied, his hands patting briefly over his pockets to check he had everything.

"I'd like to do it again though." Dean said hesitantly, his chest constricting.

Cas looked up at him slowly, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "So would I. But- That's just not an option for me. What we did here tonight should not have happened. If anyone knew..."

"O- Okay." Dean murmured as his stomach dropped.

"Dean..." Cas began, his eyes pained.

"Don't worry about it man. I get it." Dean said with a nod, the skin on his face feeling tight as he struggled to keep his expression devoid of any emotion.

"You don't know how much I wish I could."

"Gotta follow daddy's orders though, huh?" Dean said with a humourless laugh. He could feel the self-loathing building up and bubbling at the surface. Cas was a priest for God's sake and he'd corrupted him, soiled him, dragged him down into debauchery and sin. Cas had kissed him first sure, but Dean should have known better than to let it go further. He should have helped the guy out, not given in.

"Don't do that." Cas said softly from across the room, his deep voice bringing Dean back from the ugly depths of his mind.

"Do what?" Dean asked bemusedly.

"Don't feel bad about what we did. I don't regret it and you are not to blame for any punishment I will bear for the sins I have brought upon myself." He explained.

Dean nodded but he felt no less disgusted with himself. He tainted and corrupted everything he touched.

"Come on. We should go." Cas said, opening and holding the motel door open.

Dean clenched his hands and sighed. Why did he have to want so much? Why did he always want what he couldn't have? Why did he have to be so screwed in the head?


	7. There shall thy hand lead me

_"A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps."_

Proverbs 16:9

_"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;_

_Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me."_

Psalm 139:9-10

* * *

"Okay, that's enough. What the hell is going on with you?" Sam snapped when Dean stumbled into the kitchen a few nights later, lip split and an eye bruised closed.

"Don't know wha' you're talkin' bout Sammy." Dean slurred, sitting at the table with a wince. The bastards had bruised up his ribs.

"I don't think I've seen you without a drink in your hand for the past couple of days and now you're going out _looking_ for fights. Is it Lisa? Dad?" Sam questioned him. "Or are you just being a dick?"

"Leave it 'lone Sammy." Dean grumbled, his head falling into his hands as he took a deep breath.

"Dean I just want to help. Tell me what's going on." His brother said softly, a chair scraping against the old wooden floor as he sat opposite him.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked quietly.

"What?" Sam responded in surprise. "Uh, yeah I guess."

"Even after everything we've been through?" Dean peered blearily over at his giant of a brother with his long hair hanging over into his eyes.

"Yes." He confirmed. "I think- I think that's why I believe. I think I _need_ to believe that there's something good out there, something watching over us."

"D' you know I went to church last week?" Dean mumbled. "Went with Lisa."

"So this _is_ about Lisa?"

"Nah, nothin' wrong with Lis," Dean shook his head melodramatically.

"So what? You're having an existential crisis?"

Dean huffed out a humorless laugh, a tight smile twisting at his mouth. "Not me."

"Then who?" Sam asked bewilderedly.

"No one. Someone. I dunno." Dean replied with a heavy sigh.

"Right, well, I'm gonna go to bed then I think." Sam said as he stood up, resigned to the fact his brother wasn't going to be making sense any time soon. "Don't drink anymore tonight. Please." He begged, quickly patting Dean's shoulder as he walked past him.

* * *

**Two weeks later **

Open roads were something Dean knew a lot about. He'd grown up travelling through more places than he could name and it didn't take long before everywhere started to look the same. _Temporary._ After the first couple of towns they'd holed up in, he hadn't bothered to fit in or make friends. He knew it'd only be a couple of weeks or months before they packed up and moved on anyway. There was no point getting attached. Sometimes he didn't even go to his classes because he knew his life was already mapped out; nothing school taught him was ever going to be any good in his line of work. Sammy had never quite taken to the life though; dad had dragged him kicking and screaming from more towns than Dean could count. Dean had never put up a struggle. As far as he'd been concerned, the less time they spent somewhere the better. If he didn't get attached to anything or anyone, that was one less thing he could lose, one less thing that could hurt a heart that had already endured far too much.

Other than the house he'd been born it, the road and the Impala were the only home he'd ever known. So, naturally, he'd spent the better part of the past few days driving aimlessly along delightfully long stretches of dark grey tarmac, the window rolled down in the heat and Bad Company playing comfortingly from his baby's radio. He knew he was being a coward, running away from his problems, but he found he could breathe easier out here. They'd been in this town far too long and, after what had happened with Cas, what he had going on with Lisa, he could no longer ignore the itch beneath his skin telling him to get out. He was beginning to feel the weight of his actions in a completely different way than he was used to. These situations didn't usually bother him; Dean was always gone before there were any consequences. This time though, Dean wasn't going anywhere. He was going to have to deal with _people_ and _feelings._ The guilt of what he did and what he failed to do on the job was a constant throb he'd become accustomed to over the years, but this other stuff was new and it made him antsy. Lisa and him had never had _the talk._ They'd never exchanged words about being exclusive, but Dean had a feeling she would be anything be okay with him sleeping with someone else. Especially a guy. Especially _Cas._

* * *

The back of Dean's shirt was damp with sweat as he stepped out of the car, his hand reaching up to shield his eyes against the harsh brightness of the sun. Dean leant heavily against the side of the Impala, one ankle hooking casually over the other as he reached for the worn packet of cigarettes he kept for emergencies only. This wasn't exactly what he would define as an emergency, but everything felt _off_ and he needed the calm that the taste and smell of tobacco brought him. Plus, dad and Sammy weren't around, so they'd never know. This was the one pleasure he'd managed to keep to himself, other than the whole fucking guys thing. Dean rested one arm on the roof of the Impala, his head tilting up to stare at the almost completely cloudless azure sky whilst he brought the cigarette to his lips. He held the smoke in his mouth for a moment, let his tongue and his lungs appreciate the weight, before his eyes slipped closed and he released it slowly from the small parting in his mouth. There was not a vehicle or person in sight, the only sound the chirping of the cicadas from the fields surrounding him. He had no idea where he was or how many states over he'd travelled, but strangely it was the least lost he'd felt in a while. This driving between the worlds of others was what he knew. He wasn't supposed to play a role in anyone's life. He was supposed to pass through. He was supposed to be nothing but a distant memory, a barely visible speck as he drove off into the distance.

He finished smoking the cigarette in blissful silence, his mind tripping over one thing or another quickly before he forced the thought back. He didn't want to think about the small town he'd left behind in the dust, but he knew he had no option but to return. Dad would be pissed if he found out he'd bailed, but Sam had practically thrown him out the door with a shotgun pointed at him. Apparently Dean's 10am drinking was disturbing his studying and _('seriously Dean!')_ the nighttime firing practice was going to attract unwanted attention from the town or the cops or something. _Whatever, Sasquatch._

Dean hadn't put up much of an argument though. Sam needed a break from him and it was understandable. Dean had needed the break too. Now it was time to go back. He couldn't leave Sammy alone to fend for himself anymore. It was his job to look after the kid and he was slacking. He had no idea what he was going to do about Lisa or Cas, but it seemed like doing nothing was probably the best option anyway. It was pretty clear Cas didn't want to see him again, and it kind of stung, but Dean got it. Cas was trying to remove temptation, stem his desires, protect his soul from the corruption of what Dean represented. It was a little hypocritical of him considering what he'd said to Dean in the confessional, but maybe it was different for a servant of heaven. Cas was supposed to be pure, his conscience clear and his will unrivalled. Dean guessed they both had more crap to deal with than they could handle. Cas certainly seemed to carry his fair share of weight on his shoulders. Dean didn't want to add to that struggle, but it was unlikely he'd be able to stay completely clear of him if he was going to be in town for another few months. He needed to find something to keep him busy. He needed a distraction so he wouldn't keep wandering back to the church and the man waiting inside it.

* * *

"Yeah?" Bobby's gruff voice echoed down the phone.

"Hey, Bobby. It's me." Dean said, a knot loosening in his chest.

"Dean?" He replied, his voice attentive now. "How you boys doin'?"

"We're good, Bobby." He told him, his voice a little tight, but Bobby didn't mention it. "I was just wondering if you've got any cases nearby that need checking out? Y'know, any one man jobs you need a man for."

"Your dad still out on that hunt, huh?"

"Yeah, says it might be a while yet." Dean informed him.

"Maybe you ought to appreciate the time off, son. Most hunters would give a kidney for the peace and quiet you've got for yourself down there." Bobby suggested. "Try out some of the local grub, take a nice girl out for the evenin'."

"I can't just sit around anymore, it's driving me freakin' nuts. I can't play housewife any longer." Dean murmured. "Dad's out there somewhere, he won't let me help him and he's not answering the phone. I need something to sink my teeth into, something to take the edge off without drinking the entire liquor cabinet dry. Sam's down my damn throat all the freakin' time and practically threw me out and I've been driving in God damn circles for the past couple of days just trying to keep it all together. So, please, just give me something. _Anything."_

"I'll take a look." Bobby said with a sigh. "But you should head back and make sure your brother hasn't set the place on fire or somethin'. I'll give you a call in a day or so, and I'll see if I can get a hold of your dad."

"I owe you one Bobby." Dean said gratefully before hanging up and sliding back into the car.

"_Company, always on the run. Destiny is the rising sun. Oh, I was born 6-gun in my hand. Behind the gun I'll make my final stand_." He sang loudly, his fingertips drumming the rhythm against the steering wheel as he steered the Impala back onto the road.


	8. Healing to the bones

_"Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones."_

Proverbs 16:24

_"Even in laughter the heart may ache, and the end of joy may be grief."_

Proverbs 14:13

* * *

"Dean Winchester." Dean answered warily, unaccustomed to phone calls from anyone other than Sam, dad or Bobby.

"Hello." A rough, unexpected voice replied.

"Cas? How'd you get this number, man?" Dean asked.

"Lisa gave it to me. I was talking to her earlier about my car because it keeps making these funny rattling noises and she said I should talk to you. She said you might be able to help me out? If it makes you uncomfortable I completely understand. I'm sure I can find somebody else to look at it for me." Cas explained efficiently. Dude always sounded like he had a damn stick up his ass.

"Uh, yeah I guess that'd be okay." Dean murmured, his hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

"I'd pay you of course and I'll bring the car out to your place so as not to cause any inconvenience. I imagine you'll need tools and other… things."

"I can come to you. It's no problem." Dean said quickly.

"Dean, I'd feel more comfortable bringing the car to you if that's alright. I promise I won't intrude."

"That's not- Look, okay- yeah, fine." Dean rambled before slowly starting to explain the directions, listening to the scratch of pen on paper on the other end of the line.

"When would be the most preferable time?" Cas asked politely.

"I'm free this afternoon if you're up for it. I don't exactly have a lot in the calendar so I can fit you in whenever." Dean replied, uncomfortable with how businesslike and formal this whole thing was.

"This afternoon would be wonderful, Dean. I am very grateful."

"Okay, well then- I guess I'll see you later." Dean murmured.

"Yes. Goodbye Dean."

* * *

Dean was stood on the dilapidated porch with a beer in his hand when Cas pulled up in his 1978 Lincoln Continental. It had nothing on his baby and he wouldn't be caught dead driving it, but it suited Cas in an eccentric kind of way. He felt tense as he watched the man slide from behind the driving seat, bend down and lean over to grab something from the passenger side before shutting the door. Cas turned round to face him with a wide smile spread across his face and his eyes sparkling as he walked towards Dean. He looked good in a pair of pale, worn jeans and a simple grey cotton t-shirt. _Really good_. And, ah, he'd brought coffee. The guy could make it a little easier on him; it wasn't fair that he was attractive and tempted him with caffeine.

"I thought you said we were meeting at your place." Cas said from the bottom of the porch steps. Dean didn't blame him for not walking up them; he couldn't count how many times his heart had lurched at the sound of the rotten wood giving way beneath his feet.

"Uh, this is my place. Kind of." Dean muttered in reply.

"Oh, it's-" Cas started to say.

"We're squatting." Dean interrupted. "I'll give you a cookie if you don't tell anyone."

Cas laughed, his eyes crinkling shut, and he looked bashful as he peered down at the coffee cups in his hands. "I brought coffee. I thought it was the least I could do."

"Thanks." Dean said with a nod, placing his empty beer at the front door and walking down to meet Cas on the ground.

"Did you know that abandoned houses and other landscapes of decay like this are actually seen as the setting of male fantasies and public sexual encounters? I remember reading something about it in a class when I was at college. It was a paper by Matthew Gandy I think. Anyway, he talks about this cemetery in London called Abney Park and it is known as a popular place for gay cruising and public sex. Supposedly it's to do with power and reclaiming nature. It's all politics really." Cas babbled as Dean sipped his coffee.

"I'm sorry that was- that was inappropriate. All things considered." Cas exclaimed, his eyes widening the moment he realized what he'd said, his cheeks flushing.

Dean laughed, his head thrown back and his tummy clenching.

"I- I don't know why I just said that." Cas murmured with a small smile.

"I don't know why you did either, but damn I'm glad you did." Dean chuckled, clapping him on the back as he walked closer to the Continental. "I haven't laughed that long in… Well, anyway."

"You should laugh more often. It looks good on you." Cas said shyly.

Dean's eyes flitted up to meet Cas' and they stood in silent fixation for a moment before Dean audibly cleared his throat. He rolled his shoulders back quickly and took a deep breath, trying his best to focus his mind upon the task before him.

"Keys in the ignition?" He asked, his head tilting in the direction of the drivers seat.

"Yeah," Cas replied, his face serious now.

"Right. Well I'm gonna start her up and see how she sounds. We'll work from there." He informed him.

Dean sat on the worn leather seat, the smell of Cas teasing him. He didn't really know how to describe the scent. Was that myrrh? A hint of coffee and sandalwood? Sweat, skin, and soap? Whatever it was, it sent his mind reeling to the memory of soft fingertip brushes and wet lips and short, panting breaths.

Shaking his head clear, Dean switched the engine on and listened carefully, his head cocked to the side and his eyes squinted closed.

"I think you're out of oil buddy. There's not enough pressure so there's too much clearance in the valve train. Hopefully there's been no damage to the rod, piston and crankshaft." Dean said as he got back on his feet. "How long d' you say it's been crying at you like that?"

"A couple of days I think." Cas said with a nod.

"Right, well I'll take a quick look under the hood, but you should be fine. I'll need to take a quick trip into town to get the oil."

"I'll go with you." Cas replied.

* * *

The sky was softening by the time Cas and Dean sat comfortably side by side on the porch, the car engine now running smoothly. Cas had asked plenty of questions during their journey to town and back ('Where did you learn so much about cars?', 'Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?', 'What's your opinion on the color yellow?, 'Do you like bees?') and Dean had struggled not to yell at him to just put a can in it by the time he'd actually got under the hood. He was just so God damn curious about everything. The guy was practically salivating over the opportunity to learn something new. Dean thought it must be nice to be so easily excited, to see the world in such rapture. Dean saw most of life as a means to an undoubtedly messy end. His life had been one big mission. He'd been trained and shaped and drilled until his mind was filled with nothing but _hunt_ and _kill_ and _save._ He wished he knew how to want more, but he had never really seen a way out. He'd thought about it once or twice, but it had only brought him and pain and a longing he could do nothing about. It was too late for him now. He didn't know how to be anything else.

"I hope you're going to share that." Cas said as he watched Dean take a swig of whiskey.

"Dude, it's a Sunday. Aren't you meant to be playing God's bitch or something right about now?"

Cas frowned at him, annoyance clear in the narrowing of his eyes. "Too far, Dean. At least show me the respect of not blaspheming _every_ time we meet." Cas muttered with no real heat. "Besides, there is nothing to say one should not drink on the Sabbath. I have prayed, I have worshipped, and now I intend to rest."

Dean smirked as he passed the heavy bottle over. He swallowed thickly as he watched the way Cas' lips wrapped around the rim, the way his Adam's apple bobbed and his eyes fluttered shut when the burning liquid ran down his throat.

At the feeling of a shiver running unexpectedly down his spine, Dean grappled for the packet of cigarettes in his front pocket. _Emergency. Emergency._ He pressed his thumb down on the cracked button of his crappy plastic lighter a few times in quick succession with a familiar _click, click, click_ before the flame caught and flickered tentatively. He put the cigarette in between his lips and raised his spare hand to shield the lighter from the slight breeze, not even noticing the way Cas watched his every move in total absorption.

"Damn, that's good." Dean murmured to himself as he exhaled a lungful of the cancerous smoke.

"Are you okay?" Cas asked quietly from beside him, the side of his thigh pressing gently against Dean's.

"Yeah, Cas. I'm swell." Dean replied, haphazardly tapping some ash on the ground.

It was a hot night, the humid thickness of the air a little unbearable. He knew he probably wouldn't be getting any sleep, but surprisingly the thought didn't sour him much. Being sat outside in the quiet like that with Cas, cigarette dangling between his fingers, a bottle of Jack to share… it was nice.

"You're not a regular smoker though. Your fingers are too clean." Cas said in concern.

"It's an occasional thing. Smoking helps me feel calm. It's kind of a control mechanism. I have so little say in the running of my life, where I go or what I do, and I know smoking is bad for me and that it kills and stuff, but it's like- I'm _making_ that decision, y'know?" Dean explained. "I guess that's pretty messed up and stupid."

"Actually Dean, it's a fairly normal psychological response. You're rebelling. You're laying claim to your free will in the only way you know how."

"God, you really are a shrink aren't you?" Dean muttered as he dropped the cigarette butt, the heel of his boot slowly grinding it into the dirt.

"No, I just have experience with this particular matter."

"What, you? You used to smoke?"

"Half a packet a day." Cas confirmed with a nod. "It was not long after my family had 'found out' about me, or whatever you want to call it. I was angry and frustrated with the ultimatum I'd been given. I felt cornered by my family and I hated the way they waved their power in my face. At the time, it had felt so cruel. My dad sent me to pick something up for him from the drugstore down the street from our house and I saw the packets in front of me and I just thought, _Why not?_ I was in a pretty dark place and the thought of slowly destroying my health without my family's knowledge had seemed poetic."

"So why'd you quit?" Dean asked.

"When I was at college one of my friends got cancer and it spread to her lungs." Cas said with a heavy sigh. "After she died... I don't know- it just didn't seem right anymore. I couldn't justify risking my health like that. I felt guilty because she'd never smoked once in her life and yet she was dying, and I was perfectly okay. I think it made me realise that whilst my life wasn't great and I wasn't exactly happy, at least I still _had_ a life. Plus, seeing how she was in the end frightened me. I didn't want to die like that. The pain she was in... it was indescribable."

"I'm sorry." Dean said sincerely. "But it's different for me. I know I'll be dead before the damage comes back to bite me in the ass. So, no harm done."

"Don't talk like that." Cas reprimanded him. "You shouldn't treat your life so insouciantly."

A tense guffaw tore its way from Dean's throat and his mouth twisted in contempt. Cas shifted to face him more fully, his legs crossing and his hands reaching out towards Dean's face. Dean wasn't sure if Cas had noticed the way he'd flinched, or if perhaps he had and was just choosing to ignore it.

"Who did this to you, hm?" Cas asked softly, his thumbs carefully tracing over the healing cuts on his cheekbones. "What did you get yourself into this time?"

"You say that like you know me." Dean murmured in reply, his eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to keep eye contact. "How d'you know this has happened before?"

"I've seen your scars. The old and the new. I noticed the wound on your shoulder. It was almost healed but I could still feel where it was raised against the skin. It was rough to touch." Cas replied, one hand moving to slide beneath Dean's shirt so he could retrace the mark.

Dean shuddered at the cool touch on his overheated skin.

"Sorry, I forget they're there sometimes." He didn't know why he was apologising, but it felt appropriate. The scars were ugly; some tiny slivers of silver, others large and grotesque from the incision of serrated blades or other imaginative tortures.

"Don't apologize for the things you've been through. These scars- they're proof of your resilience, your strength. These scars show that you survived."

Dean's breath caught in his throat at the unexpected brush of Cas' lips against his cheek, the warmth of him seeping into Dean's skin.

"Cas," He whispered uncertainly.

Cas mm'd, his other hand leaving Dean's face to smooth down the front of his shirt.

"I don't think- You said-" Dean stuttered, his eyes opening to find his vision full of an electrifying blue.

"I know what I said. But- I need it, Dean. I need _you."_ He murmured in complete sincerity. "Maybe it can be like your cigarettes? Maybe we can take this one thing for ourselves?"

Cas seemed hypnotised by the small movements of Dean's lips, his tongue poking out to wet his own. Dean closed his eyes and gave a brief nod of his head, immediately grunting at the force with which Cas fused their mouths together. Dean let his hands drift up to tangle in Cas' hair, pulling gently whilst Cas kissed him with an almost bruising intensity. It was as if he was trying to worm his way inside Dean, to fill every crack and crevice within him. Dean thought he should probably be embarrassed by the wanton sound that escaped his throat when Cas' shoved him down on his back and straddled him, but it seemed stupid to pretend he didn't want this, didn't need this.

"You better not- ah- You better not do a houdini on my ass this time." Dean said between harsh breaths, his hands gripping Cas' pleasantly solid thighs.

"You better be at church next week." Cas retorted, his lips pressing chaste but tender kisses to the bruises of Dean's face.

"Will we be doing this?" He asked, unable to help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Ow!" He cried at the unexpected feeling of Cas sharply twisting a nipple.

"Dean, how many times do I have-" Cas started before Dean quickly shushed him, a hand clamping over his mouth.

They lay quietly together as they listened to the sound of something moving in the long grass along the side of the house. "It's Sam." Dean whispered.

Cas clambered off him in silence and straightened his shirt as he slid to a more respectable distance.

"Hey Sammy!" Dean called when his brother came into view.

Much to his amusement, Sam visibly leapt back and clutched a hand to his chest. "God Dean, you can be such a jerk."

"Stop getting your panties in a twitch, _Samantha."_

"I should be going now." Cas said quietly as he got to his feet. "Thank you for fixing my car."

"Hey, it's no problem. Any time." Dean replied.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nah don't worry, you can have this one on the house. I didn't even really do anything." He brushed him off.

"I'm gonna go inside." Sam muttered awkwardly from the background. Neither Dean nor Cas paid him any attention.

"Dean, I insist you let me pay you for your work."

"Well, how about we just say you owe me a favour, and I can cash it in some other time?"

"I would still like to pay you, but- okay."

"Nice doing business with you, Padre." Dean said with a wink.

"I'll see you soon." Cas grumbled with a dramatic roll of his eyes. It was fond though, and that made Dean's chest warm in a way it had absolutely no right to.

Dean nodded in reply and watched with a smile on his face as Cas made his way over to the Continental.

* * *

"Who was that?" Sam asked the moment Dean walked into the kitchen.

"Cas. He's... kind of a buddy." Dean replied.

Sam snorted, his features twisted into the famous _bitch face_. "You don't have friends."

"Hey, now that hurt." Dean said in mock offence, shoving roughly at Sam's shoulder as he went to grab the leftover pizza from the fridge.

"It's good, though." Sam murmured softly. "I'm glad you have someone to hang out with. Someone that's not me or dad."

"What's wrong with hanging out with you and dad?"

"Nothing. It's just- never mind."

Dean knew what Sammy was saying. He was saying, _because we're not going to be around forever_. Sam was gonna leave and go to college, and dad wouldn't need him to babysit anymore. Dean was going to be alone. He was going to have to make his own way in the cruel, unforgiving world. It scared the shit out of him.


End file.
